Broken Vase
by Atemusluckygal
Summary: Slight adaptation of the train ride to Florida in Season 4. Tea considers the moping broken pharaoh, and with a long train ride ahead, she is able to consider the finer detail of who exactly the man sitting next to her was. Lots of deep, internal thought. YamixTea (kind of).


Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!

...or "The Fault in Our Stars", which is referenced in this story. Written by John Green. (read it if you haven't already... one of my favorite books)

Quickie A/N: Slight alteration of the train ride in Episode 16 of Season 4. Not a lot of action, not a lot of dialogue. A whole lot of internal thoughts. Enjoy.

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**Broken Vase**  
by Atemusluckygal

Tea had realized, quite a while ago, that she had to find a way to avoid locking eyes with the former pharaoh of Egypt – for whenever she allowed for eye contact with those deep enigmatic pools of violet, she found herself dizzying with infatuation, fascination, and hope of a deeper connection that could be accomplished between them. She remembered the first time she saw him, when she not only recognized, but _felt_ a presence that was vastly different than her shy, boyish childhood friend, like it had just happened yesterday. How he captured her interest with his simple expression of genuine concern, his warm godfather-like voice assuring her that she no longer had anything to fear; how his tall posture pronounced his confidence, and his sharp eyes caressed her face therein to soothe her trauma.

To this day, Yami remained to be completely and utterly oblivious to the overwhelming effects he had on her.

That was why, in the current moment, it tore Tea's heart in two looking into his eyes – in the rare occasion that he would meet her gaze – for they were empty and drowning in the dark wells of anguished guilt and sorrow. His soul was a shattered glass vase on a tile floor; and although his close friends have been trying to help him pick up the pieces, life continued to move on, stepping over the fragments or kicking them off to the side so that it could continue its path as it were.

The young brunette girl sat next to him on the train on purpose. Not only did she find comfort in his presence, but she was fairly certain – hopefully not presumptuously so – that her _own_ presence would be more calming, or at least less aggravating, to the broken spirit than either Joey or Tristan.

Tea realized that Yami had probably not eaten since before the duel with Raphael. "Are you hungry?" she gently asked the pharaoh, hoping to elicit some kind of response, to at least hear his voice say a word or two. She was rewarded with silence.

The pharaoh hardly budged from his position of staring absentmindedly into the back of the seat before him, with his hands on his lap and his lips sagging into an insipid frown. It was as if she wasn't even _there_. It took the best of Tea's level-headedness to not take it personally.

After all, how could she do anything but at least _try_ to understand, or at least be sympathetic to, the pain that she could only imagine was eroding at his heart? He was a centuries-old spirit, with no memory of his past, given the unspoken but ever-so-essential duty to guide and protect his charge: Yugi. Now that Yugi was beyond his reach – being held hostage by the _enemy_ – how could the pharaoh live day to day without him, dwelling in his host's vessel sans the host, becoming mentally bound to his failure as it revisited him in daydreams and nightmares? Tea always viewed him as stoic and fearless, but this whole escapade revealed the one true fear, that was the pharaoh's weakness – losing Yugi forever. It seemed, as the train chugged along the tracks on the edge of a rocky mountain overlooking the expansive green terrain of the state, that this fear was becoming reality and slipping further and further away from any sort of miraculous turn of events that would bring him to the young boy he cherished so close to his heart.

He had lost hope. It was that simple. Tea could sense and feel that his will to go on was nearly completely diminished, the shattered remains of the vase of his soul swept against the adjacent wall, to be hardly acknowledged but never mended.

The trip continued in silence. Joey and Tristan had already eaten their fill of the provided train lunch food from the dining cart, and had since nodded off into a deep, satisfied nap. The corner of Tea's mouth tucked upwards into a half-smile. The lack of noise from that side of the aisle was nice. Only the rhythmic chugging of the train's engine entered her ears.

She glanced back at the man sitting directly to her right, his head bowed slightly, his chest heaving slowly, and his pained eyes closed. His brow was creased and his lips tightened a bit, his mind and body trying to rest but his conscience refusing to let sleep take its hold, as if it were the enemy waiting to grasp him in its tendrils and take him away. He had slipped into an ironic type of slumber of which sleep carried his mind even further from spiritual rest than perfect consciousness.

Without quite considering her actions, Tea removed her hand from her lap to rest it atop the pharaoh's, which rested on his thigh. She noticed with displeasure that his knuckles and the top of his hands were – as probably the rest of his hands were – chilled and course to the touch. He really did have beautiful hands; they were strong with enveloping long fingers. But, as his heart was, they were drained of will and strength.

_They actually aren't his hands, _Tea remembered, _they're technically Yugi's. I sure do miss him…_

She was slightly relieved that the pharaoh did not react, only remained in his troubled sleep, allowing her the daring act to massage his hand with her deft fingers – gentle enough to not stir him, but firm enough to ease the tension in his face as he slept.

What was it like, to not have hands of your own? Tea had wondered this casually before, but as they sat on a silent train ride bound for a long journey, the surrounding quiet had opened the door for her to explore her thoughts that were once shelved for later explicating. They were his hands… but they weren't. Those hands were likely not the ones that he wore in his Egyptian reign five millennia ago, but they weren't Yugi's hands either – Yugi's were smaller, with stubbier fingers, and usually soft.

Certainly it was both convenient and cruel that Yugi was here so that the pharaoh could live in him – _through_ him, in a way – but could never claim a body to his own. The doubt of his separate identity from Yugi's had been long since tossed, but in a way they were still as close to the same person as two distinctly different spirits could be. These supernatural phenomena were likely far beyond anything that Tea could even begin to figure out, but the important thing was that the pharaoh was here on some sort of undeclared mission to defeat an undeclared evil, and Yugi was there to learn and grow from him to become in his image.

Tea always thought herself to be considerably good at counting her blessings, as she made copious efforts to be thankful for them every day – it was what her religious parents taught her to do. She was thankful for the home she grew up in, her parents who supported and provided for her, her friends, her health, and all the rest. She took each blessing and held it close to her heart. And today she figured out another thing to be thankful for.

Her identity.

To anyone who wasn't a regular in the Saving-The-World friendship circle, that may have sounded silly. After all, anyone who lives and has lived in this world has some sort of identity? It wasn't like money, where some people had a lot, some people had very little, or none at all. Everyone had an identity to fall back on – their mark on the world as their own unique formula as a person.

At least, in the times of turmoil, Tea would always know herself: a 17 year old young woman with a tall and curvy figure, fair skin, dark hair and blue eyes. Of a religious upbringing. Has an upcoming birthday in the next two months. Allergic to kiwi. Preferred red wine over white.

In many ways, that was a privilege that Yami did not have. He was undoubtedly his own person; that was known (at least among the circle). His identity was lost in history, and at times Yami probably felt lost with it. The feeling of not knowing yourself, to the extent of which someone in this lifetime knew oneself, was completely unfathomable to her. His lifetime was centuries ago, but he was his own person back then. Today, in her generation, he was mostly Yugi. And to anyone else who had less of a clue what was happening, he was Yugi to them, too.

Who _was_ Yami, really? What did any of them really know about him? When was his birthday? Was he a daytime go-getter or a night owl? Did he like apples or did he like oranges, or both, or neither?

The daunting question here was: did he rule Egypt justly? Or as Raphael said, with evil and greedy intent?

And yet, what was beyond her entirely and a thousand times over, was her inevitable interest in him that indeed exceeded beyond what was entirely appropriate. Tea had seen enough movies and read enough books to be aware of the oh-so-cliché notion that women are drawn by men who are distant and mysterious. Up until she was conscious of Yami's existence, she dismissed it as perfect rubbish. They were tools of making a sell-able love story, she had always thought. No sooner when she fell for the former pharaoh did she become distinctly aware that Yami was perhaps the forefather of the "mysterious suitor" character; he was, in fact, so mysterious that he did not even know _himself_ at all. And the fact that Tea herself was present on the day of the breakthrough that began to lead Yami into the exploration of his true self, and that she was helpful in however way she could, drew her closer to him.

The sleeping spirit's head sank a bit lower, and so Tea placed a delicate hand on his warm forehead and, as she slowly lowered her head on his left shoulder, rested his head atop hers. She took in the pharaoh's scent – fresh and clean-smelling – as he had taken a shower before they left for the train station. She inhaled deeply, letting the smell swirl in her lungs full circle before exhaling it back out, and took comfort in being physically connected to him, even if it was only in this way and that was all she would ever get.

As the brunette leaned lightly on the pharaoh's shoulder, she thought of a quote that stuck to her for some reason:

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt."

It was from a book she read recently. It was about a romance shared between two cancer patients. It was improbable almost as much as it was perfect. And the boy was not at all mysterious – he was wonderfully mystifying. Tea considered the man she was sort-of-cuddling and regarded him as "mysteriously mystifying", since she couldn't decide if he were more of one or the other.

But the pain that he was feeling was actively demanding to be felt. It had to run its course, and Yami had to overcome it; and before long, the gang would have Yugi back, and soon after that the pharaoh will have his own personal formula of an identity. It was what he truly deserved, above all else.

As Tea's eyes slid closed, she wondered how the pharaoh would react to waking up with his head resting upon hers, and of course she'd blushingly offer a quick explanation that pertained to something along the lines of "I didn't want you to strain your neck" or some other silly excuse. But it was to worry about when he woke up; and at the current moment, it seemed he was at least somewhat comfortably asleep.

Before drifting off to blissful unconsciousness, Tea smiled as she remembered another quote from the book: "I fell in love like you fall asleep – slowly, then all at once."

-END-


End file.
